Professor Terry Flew steps onto the digital stage, not to declare truth dead, but to challenge the very notion that we’ve entered a “post-truth era.” He argues that while our current times are certainly murky, with truth and trust facing unprecedented assaults, these struggles aren’t entirely new. It’s like a persistent ache rather than a sudden, fatal illness. He points out that the connection between trust and truth has always been fundamental. We naturally trust those who speak truthfully, much like Albert Einstein’s observation that a person careless with small truths can’t be trusted with big ones. This makes perfect sense; how can we rely on someone who plays fast and loose with reality?
Indeed, navigating our modern landscape feels like traversing a minefield of distorted facts and deliberate falsehoods. Terry highlights how the “truthiness” that characterized former President George W. Bush’s era has morphed into the “alternative facts” and “fake news” narratives of the Trump administration. Across the globe, similar anxieties surface. In Australia, trust in government has plummeted, with an alarming dip from 56% to a mere 37% in just five years. This erosion of faith is deeply concerning. The worry isn’t just about politicians; it’s about the very fabric of reliable information. National security experts increasingly identify deliberate misinformation and AI-powered attacks as major threats, a sentiment echoed by London’s Mayor Sadiq Khan, who decries a “dark blizzard of disinformation” painting his city in a false light, often fueled by AI-generated content. This barrage of misleading information has led many to declare a “post-truth era,” where feelings and personal beliefs outweigh objective facts, and conspiracy theories gain traction while verified information is dismissed. It’s a scenario that resonates deeply, especially for those of us who feel a profound frustration with the embrace of falsehoods and emotionally charged arguments over evidence.
However, Terry invites us to take a breath and look back, suggesting that many of these “new” issues are, in fact, old struggles repackaged. He reminds us that trust has never been solely built on cold, hard facts. He delves into Hannah Arendt’s insightful observation that “truth and politics are on rather bad terms with one another.” Politics, by its nature, is a messy arena where different perspectives clash, and claims to truth are constantly in competition. Autocratic regimes, for instance, often see truth as a threat to their authority. Even in democracies, the “marketplace of ideas” can be chaotic, with politicians vying for attention and appealing to diverse voters who hold vastly different understandings of what constitutes truth. Arendt also noted that “factual truths” have always had a precarious existence. While academic communities establish rigorous procedures like peer review to ensure accuracy, the broader public sphere is far less regulated.
This brings us to the changing role of expertise. Terry, drawing on Gil Eyal’s work, explains how the increasing involvement of experts in political decisions and the rise of “evidence-based policy” are now under scrutiny. There’s a growing skepticism towards established authority, fueled by declining trust in political institutions, the politicization of science, and the emergence of “lay experts” on social media. The media itself, once seen as a gatekeeper of truth, now plays a dual role as both legitimizer and critic of scientific claims. Michael Brown, reviewing “The Crisis of Expertise,” reminds us that “empirical evidence does not speak for itself,” highlighting that what we accept as fact is often the result of a complex social process. Furthermore, Terry cautions against falling into the trap of a simplistic “positivist” view, where facts are seen as indisputable and dispassionately observed. Media and cultural studies, by contrast, recognize that knowledge is always socially situated and influenced by lived experiences. Julian McDougall critiques the narrow focus on “inoculating” media consumers against misinformation, arguing that it often sidelines the rich insights of media and cultural studies in favor of basic media literacy or fact-checking tools. This approach, he suggests, often implicitly assumes professional journalists can always deliver “the truth” if they follow their methods, a claim that media scholars and even journalists themselves have long questioned.
To truly understand the nuanced relationship between truth and trust, Terry turns to the late German philosopher Jürgen Habermas. Dispelling the common perception of Habermas as a purely rational thinker, Terry explains how his theory of communicative action actually reveals the inherent difficulty in connecting truth and knowledge. Habermas proposed three theories of meaning – formal semantics (the truth of propositions), intentionalist semantics (the speaker’s intentions), and semantics of use (mutual understanding) – each linked to a form of rationality: epistemic (truthfulness), teleological (motivation to act), and ethical/moral (empathy and morality). For Habermas, truth isn’t just about factual claims. It also involves purposeful action and a motivation towards the common good. Without these elements, any claim to truth will be contested. While Habermas rarely explicitly used the term “trust,” Terry argues that trustworthy communication emerges from a blend of empathy and justice from speakers, combined with their ability to be understood by diverse audiences. It’s not just about what you say, but how you say it, why you say it, and who you’re saying it to.
Ultimately, Terry Flew concludes that the marriage between truth and trust has never been straightforward, a constantly evolving relationship with its fair share of bumps and disagreements. While the internet, social media, and AI undoubtedly accelerate the spread of misinformation, the tactic of appealing to emotions over reason to manipulate public opinion is far from new. He urges us to see misinformation as a continuation of a long history of propaganda and conspiracy theories, rather than a sign of rationality’s demise. Our liberal democratic societies have always been a messy mix of rationality and emotion, truth and propaganda, and contested facts. A significant disruptor in recent times has been the rise of populist movements, particularly on the right and center-right. Thomas Piketty suggests that education, not social class, is now the primary divider in politics. In this climate, expertise is increasingly dismissed by some as a “left-wing” elite phenomenon, seen as self-serving rather than objective. Social media exacerbates this by filtering public statements through political affiliation, making some on the right view speakers’ political leanings as more important than their adherence to facts. Journalist Silvio Waisbord describes this populist view as conflict-centered, where the idea of a shared public space for deliberation is scorned. But labeling this “post-truth” and contrasting it with a mythical past of universal consensus on facts, Terry argues, is a mischaracterization. It confuses the current political climate with a fundamental shift in knowledge itself. We haven’t transitioned from an era of truth to a post-truth one; instead, we are grappling with perennial challenges to truth and trust that are amplified and complicated by new technologies and deeper societal divisions.